smudged with something, but it was too dark to tell. I held the note up to the porthole to allow moonlight to shine on it. As soon as the light hit it, I saw the smudge for what it was.
Blood. Wet blood.
THIRD EARTH
Patrick Mac, the Traveler from Third Earth, returned to his home territory. There was no place like home. Literally. It felt nothing like home. At least not the one he was used to.
He landed back at the flume that was hidden beneath the ruins of the stone cathedral they had entered on Second Earth. The Ravinian cult may still have been active on Third Earth, but they weren’t using the flume for gatherings anymore. Patrick didn’t want to be there any longer than necessary. Being there reminded him of being shot.
He climbed up the stairs to the ruined street that was in the Bronx, New York. Having been to Second Earth, the surroundings seemed a bit less alien than when he had left. Looking around at the crumbling buildings, he could imagine what they had looked like centuries before. Not a soul was on the street. It was as good as a ghost town. Patrick stood stunned, taking in the evidence before his eyes. This was what Naymeer’s teachings led to. This is what Saint Dane wanted. The territory was in ruins.
As much as Patrick dreaded returning, seeing the nightmare that Third Earth had become lit him up… with anger. His world had been as close to perfect as could be. The people of Earth had gotten it right. Naymeer’s cult changed all that. The so-called elite had driven Earth to ruin. The proof was all around him. Patrick had a mission. He had to stop it from happening. He had to help Pendragon change the past. Again.
The lead Traveler had asked him to dig through history to find whatever he could about the Ravinian cult. Anything that might help stop them from accomplishing their mad plan. If anybody could do that, Patrick could. He decided to go to the source. To the one person who seemed to have a decent grasp on the past. He needed to see Richard, the elderly librarian. Richard had told him that all the records from that time were destroyed, yet he still seemed to know a lot about what had happened. Yes, thought Patrick. Richard would be his first resource. But where would he find the man? Richard had been beaten by the Ravinians. Had he survived? People said they would take him to the hospital. What hospital? Patrick knew nothing about this transformed Third Earth. How long ago had it all happened? When had the flume returned him to Third Earth? Was Richard beaten earlier that day? Or years before?
Patrick decided to tackle the challenges one at a time. It was the only way to fight off the panic. He had to calm down and act logically. The place to start was obvious. He had to go back to the library.
It was a long walk downtown. The subways no longer ran and no taxicabs cruised the streets. The farther south he went, the busier the streets became. New York was still alive, though barely. Most people got around on bicycles, but after he crossed a bridge to Manhattan, he saw ancient buses cruising the avenues. He would have loved to catch one, but he didn’t have a penny to his name. He resigned himself to walking the full distance, just as he had made the walk from the library up to the flume before.
It took several hours, but Patrick finally arrived at the library. When he looked up at the stone facade, his heart sank. The front of the once proud building was marked with ugly black streaks. They were scars from the fire the Ravinians had set. It gave him even less hope that he’d find Richard there. But he didn’t know where else to look, so he willed his aching legs to climb the steps.
The foyer was badly damaged but not destroyed. Patrick took a few steps toward the corridor that led to the room where Richard had hidden the Ravinia book cover, but he stopped before getting very far. The corridor was impassable. It looked as if this was where the fire was centered. Charred wooden beams had crashed down, closing off the hallway. There was no use trying to go that way. Patrick returned to the foyer and decided to try the other direction. When he turned to head back, Patrick froze. Standing in the center of the burned foyer was Richard. For a moment Patrick actually thought he was looking at a ghost-that’s how thin and pale the man looked.
“You came back,” Richard said in a thin whisper.
Patrick went to him quickly. “Are you all right?”
Richard scoffed. “Depends on your definition of ‘all right.’ I’m alive. Does that count?”
Patrick was flustered. He hadn’t expected to find Richard so quickly. He had a million questions and couldn’t think of a single one.
“How long?” he asked. “I mean, how long ago did they, you know, burn the library?”
Richard gave Patrick a curious look. Patrick realized he had asked a ridiculous question. Richard didn’t know about traveling between time and territories.
“Why do you ask?” Richard replied. “Did you go somewhere else in Halla?”
Or maybe he did. Patrick had forgotten that Naymeer pulled the curtain back on Halla many centuries before.
“What do you know about Halla?” Patrick asked.
“Enough to know that the promise of living in a world better than our own was never fulfilled” was Richard’s angry answer. “Is there anything else to know?”
“No,” Patrick said, glum. “I guess not.”
“Yesterday,” Richard said.
“Yesterday what?”
“Yesterday they burned the library and sent me to the hospital.”
“Oh. Right.”
“Why did you come back?” Richard asked. “Still looking for answers, Teacher?”
Patrick perked up. “Now more than ever.”
Richard gave a tired nod. He reached for his sleeve and pulled it up to reveal an ugly red blotch on his right forearm.
Patrick gasped.
It was a scar where there once had been the tattoo of a star. “How’s this for a start?” Richard asked.
“You’re one of them?” Patrick asked, stunned.
“I was. Until I learned the truth.”
“Tell me,” Patrick begged. “I need to know. Everything.”
“Why?” Richard asked.
“To try to stop it,” Patrick answered bluntly.
Richard sniffed skeptically. He looked Patrick right in the eye and asked, “Are you strong enough?”
“To stop it? I don’t know.”
“No. I’m asking if you’re strong enough to learn the truth.”
The ominous question made Patrick flinch. “I have to be.”
Richard nodded and shuffled off, headed deeper into the library. Patrick followed him down a long corridor with a cracked marble floor. They soon reached a small room with an unmade bed along the far wall. Clothes were strewn everywhere. The place smelled of smoke and dirty laundry. A small hot plate for cooking was on a scarred old desk.
“You live here?” Patrick asked, incredulous.
“This is my world now,” Richard said as he dug through mounds of clothing and paper containers. “Homey, don’t you think?”
“This isn’t your world,” Patrick corrected. “Your world is those books out there.”
That made Richard stop. He seemed to soften. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. “It’s a dying world. I’m tired of living in it.”
He found what he was looking for-a set of car keys.
Afew minutes later Richard and Patrick were driving up Broadway in an ancient, gas-powered automobile. Richard was behind the wheel. Patrick was white-knuckling it in the passenger seat. The old car was falling apart. Every time it hit the slightest crack in the road, it bounced and groaned as if about to crumble. Patrick glanced nervously at the old man. He was actually relieved to see that Richard looked better. He had a happy spark in his eye. He obviously enjoyed driving.
